Five Times Someone Let Kurt Hummel Down
by amor-remanet
Summary: Five Times Someone Massively Let Kurt Hummel Down And One Time Someone Unexpectedly Came Through ." Warnings: angst and explicit SLASH of the Finn/Kurt variety. SPOILERS for: "Acafellas," "Preggers," "The Rhodes Not Traveled," "Vitamin D," & "Throwdown"


**1.** Knowing that Mom will be home from the hospital soon is the worst feeling in the world. It shouldn't be, but Aunt Mildred is Kurt's babysitter today, and she won't tell him when Mom's coming. Frowning deeply, Kurt peers over the back of the couch and out the windows, but he doesn't see Dad's truck. When he asks, he gets more of the same: Aunt Mildred tells him that Mom, Dad, and Uncle Jim will be back home when they're home, and that the doctors are probably just making sure everything is okay before letting Mom come back. It's a complicated situation, after all, and she can't come home if she's still sick. Something bad could happen. And Aunt Mildred doesn't know when Mom's going to be alright again, so she obviously can't tell Kurt anything.

She tells him all kinds of other things, though. Like how Dad could have played for the Cleveland Browns if he hadn't blown out his knee in college. And like how Mom could have been the best designer in Ohio — or maybe even the whole world, since she got that scholarship to Parsons in New York — but then Grandpa Mike got in bad with the credit people, and Mom never got to graduate. And how Uncle Jim won't buy Aunt Mildred the decanter that she wants because he's a stingy, penny-pinching tight-ass who never has any fun and just doesn't _understand_ what a _good_ woman he married… but Kurt doesn't want to know any of that. It's not that he doesn't care, he does. He just wants more to know when Mom is _coming home already_. The curtains she's been sewing are still waiting for her on the table in her special room, and when she gets back, she's going to teach Kurt how to use her sewing machine. After last time, she promised him.

Kurt's looking out the window again when Aunt Mildred finally turns her back on him, but he knows an opportunity when he sees one, and he doesn't pass it up. While she rummages inside Dad's Cupboard (the one Kurt is not allowed to go into, ever; the one that when Dad goes in it, Mom tells Kurt to leave the room), Kurt goes downstairs and holes up in his room. Aunt Mildred smells weird anyway.

His closet is the first place that he goes to, and he gets out the toys that Mom likes the best. All the dolls come out first, the Barbies and the Raggedy Ann, and then comes the plastic pony and the pretend jewels that are plastic, but still don't really have an excuse for being so gaudy. Dad didn't want to let Kurt have any of these, but that's because Dad can't pick anything, and doesn't know the _value_ of a good Malibu Beach House Barbie. The football and the toy cars Dad picked out all have a little layer of dust on them.

At least Mom understands good toys: her favorite is the shining Barbie tiara with the pink heart in the center, and, looking in the desk-sized Barbie vanity, Kurt runs his magenta brush through his hair. He positions the tiara in the center of his head, lets it hover dangerously for a moment. He combs the little plastic things into place, rakes them through his perfectly kept and conditioned strands of brown, and once it's in place, he beams at himself. He waves his hand at the wrist, the way that Miss America did on TV last month, when he shouldn't have been awake and watching. Mom let him stay up late to see the ending, and on the living room sofa, Kurt curled up against her chest. Because of what the doctors had to do, she was skinny, and pale, and her sweater had two others underneath it, but she'd still been shivering through the whole show.

But she held Kurt close, even as her hands trembled, and she let him twist his fingers up in her big blonde wig, and he breathed in her smell of cigarettes and floral soap.

"Mommy?" he whispered as the contestants all lined up. "They're so pretty, but I think you're _beautiful_."

"You're beautiful too, baby," she told him softly, rubbing circles on his back. "Promise Mommy that, whatever happens, you know that, right? And promise me you're always going to be yourself."

"I promise, Mommy," Kurt agreed, hugging her around the neck.

While he's trying to get his hair just right, Kurt hears Dad's truck roll up the driveway, tires crunching on the uneven pavement. Kurt races upstairs like it's Christmas morning, tripping over his own feet and knocking the tiara all askew. He catches it, barely, just before it topples over and off his head. Never mind that it's not perfectly right, Kurt just wants to see his Mom again. She'll be tired like the last time, but then they'll put on her Liza records and sing "Liza With a Z" and everything will be just right again.

Dad comes in first and storms right past Kurt, his face red and contorted in ways Kurt's only seen when Mom lets him watch gymnastics and ice dancing competitions on the cable. Without a word, Dad goes into the other room, right to Aunt Mildred, who stands. Something happens, or is said, and she cries out, wailing, sobbing, choking, begging Dad to go pour her an apple Schnapps.

"Get it _yourself_, Mildred," he snaps, snarling like a wolf — and she staggers through en route to Dad's Cupboard. She's crying. Her makeup runs all down her face until she looks like some tribal mask of war, hanging up in a museum, and not a former Miss Teen Ohio gone to seed.

Outside, the motor quiets and the headlights turn off. Kurt didn't even notice that it was late enough for the headlights. When Uncle Jim traipses in — he moves like he's in molasses and wet clothes — he isn't wearing his hat. His ugly, navy blue Detroit Tigers baseball hat — Kurt hates it, it's ugly, and it isn't on Uncle Jim's head. He always wears that stupid hat.

Something else isn't right. Mom isn't here.

Ducking around his uncle, Kurt looks outside. Mom isn't there either. He rounds on Uncle Jim.

"_Where is she_?" he demands, his voice shaking.

"Mommy went back to God, kiddo," Uncle Jim says in a hushed voice. He puts his hand on Kurt's head, musses his hair. The tiara clatters to the floor. "She's with the angels now."

It isn't until some five days later, after the visitation and the funeral, after seeing Mom's cold body on display in a black-painted casket and hearing all her friends talk about what a fighter she was that Kurt understands Uncle Jim's double-speak. Mom died. The cancer won.

If she'd listened and stopped smoking, maybe her chances could have been better, but she didn't. She went away, and left Kurt her jewelry and her records instead of her.

Alone in his room, Kurt curls up with his pillow and Mom's little record player. Ella plays loud over the fog of silence, confusion — _Ev'ry time we say goodbye, I die a little / Ev'ry time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little / Why the gods above me, who must be in the know / Think so little of me, they allow you to go_…

Without meaning to, Kurt sings along and hot, angry tears stream down his face.

~*~

**2.** After the first time he watches it, Kurt decides that Queer Eye for the Straight Guy is the best show to _ever_ come on TV. He may only be ten years old, but it is the best, without any question. What could be better than five gay men making straight men look better? Really, Dad could stand to let them work on him — all he ever wears is jeans and flannel, and the baseball caps that he and Uncle Jim take on their fishing trips, and outside of Kurt's room, the house looks like a cover story from _Midwestern Redneck Living_. The people from the magazine would probably come to take photos and gush over the sofa covers that Dad might have made out of potato sacks, and the plastic wall-mount fish that sings "Don't Worry, Be Happy" (a Christmas present to Kurt from Uncle Jim; Kurt _refuses_ to have it come anywhere near his room), and the 1980s kitsch fridge magnets from Mom and Dad's honeymoon in Disney World. And then there's how Dad _smells_…

Sitting Dad down to watch an episode with him is just an intervention, and Kurt takes it just as seriously as the people in Aunt Mildred's soaps. As his son, it's Kurt's _duty_ to make sure that Dad looks good, has a nice house (one that Kurt wouldn't be _embarrassed_ to bring people over to, if anyone actually wanted to come), and takes care of himself in a way that isn't so _gross_.

While Carson Kressley tries to get the Straight Guy more educated about his clothes and what a _state_ they are, the channel abruptly changes. The new figure on it is tall, and blonde, and smiley… but she's also a _woman_, and she's in a sparkling gown that Vanna White would wear if Vanna White shopped at Sears, and her teeth are nowhere near as perfect as Vanna's. Kurt crinkles his face in surprise and glares at Dad, who sits rapt before this pretty slut.

"_Dad_!" he protests, whining. "I was watching that!"

"Shhh, Kurt." Dad waves a hand at him, to quiet him. "They're drawing the Ohio Mega-Millions tonight."

"Nobody _ever_ wins that!" Kurt points out. "Let me watch my show!"

Dad says nothing. Kurt storms down to his room. Without thinking about it, he pulls out Mom's old record player. He changes into his black t-shirt and the black pants he wears for dance class, and when he's ready, he puts on Mom's old _Judy at Carnegie Hall_. Some day soon, he'll need a new copy of it. He's listened to it all so many times, but "You Go to My Head" is still okay. Putting it on, Kurt stands before his mirror and he doesn't need to be Kurt Hummel anymore. Little Kurt who no one listens to, at home or school or Aunt Mildred and Uncle Jim's — he's Judy Garland now and everybody loves him. He says all of the words right along with her, and sings when she does, and even flubs the second verse when he knows all of the words, because Judy screwed them up, so he can too.

Near the end, Dad runs downstairs and squeezes Kurt tight, cuts off his song and lifts him up into the biggest bear hug Kurt's ever had. When Kurt expects apologies, he gets something else instead: "We won, Kurt!" Dad yawps, holding Kurt close to him. "We won all three-hundred _million_ smackers!"

By morning, everything's all cleared up: they won three-hundred and twenty-seven million dollars, and Dad and Uncle Jim have enough college between them that they know just how to invest it. Kurt's getting more money in the college funds that Mom and Grandma Jane left for him. He's getting a trust fund, which will collect interest for him until 2011, when he's eighteen and it becomes his legally. Even after taxes, Kurt and Dad will have a _lot_ of money, more than anyone else in Lima, maybe in all of Ohio. They could leave and go to California, or New York, or somewhere more open-minded, somewhere that deserves them more than this crappy little town.

Kurt could go to private school, one of those progressive ones where they'd encourage him to follow his dreams and where they'd have a strict no-harassment policy, where no one could make fun of him or call him a girl or anything. And even after paying the tuition, Dad wouldn't have to worry about money ever again. Aunt Mildred would never run out of apple Schnapps.

"No, Kurt," Dad tells him when he proposes these ideas. "We can't blow all this money on things we don't need — it's a _gift_ for us. We need to keep it for when we might _really_ need it, and we can't let it go to our heads, okay?"

"But I really _need_ to go to private school!" Kurt wails, slamming his hand on the kitchen table. The tacky plastic plates with Disney characters on them rattle, he hits the table so hard. Temper tantrums are for babies, he knows that, but what about this is so hard for Dad to _understand_? The Lima public schools are Hell-holes built on rats' nests, and Kurt hates going to them.

"You need to stay where you are now." Dad's face is unmoving, his voice flat and unimpressed. "What doesn't kill you's going to make you stronger, kiddo. Chin up."

Whoever said that first had clearly never been a fifth-grader in the the Lima public schools. Rolling his eyes, Kurt sighs and goes down to his room again. Dad may not understand him, but Judy always does. Dressed all in black, standing before his mirror with his record and his hairbrush, Kurt croons "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and dreams that he could someday get there. Or if not there, then anywhere but here.

~*~

**3.** Quinn Fabray is the prettiest, most popular girl in Adlai Stevenson Middle School, and, at age twelve, Kurt decides that he has had quite enough of being picked on. Maybe running for seventh grade class president isn't the solution that everyone _else_ would choose to actualize, but if Kurt wins the position, he'll have the power and no one can make fun of him again. His name will be _Kurt_, not a _loser_ or any of the other slurs they like to throw at him. If he does it with _her_, though, they can share the glory, and he'll be cooler by association. They'd be running against Elliot Phillips, a total nerd, and Rachel Berry, for God's sake — they'd have the election in the _bag_.

During lunch, Quinn sits at the best table in the cafeteria, surrounded by the other popular girls — like Santana, whose skin is _flawless_ — and Brittany, who _something_ just always feels _off_ about, like she knows something that Kurt knows too, but he can't ever put his finger on it. Even more so, it's a nebula full of popular boys around them as their bodyguards. Finn Hudson is among the ranks of these boys, off to one side, making eyes of a sort at Quinn… or maybe he just ate some bad fries. As he strides up, Kurt lets his eyes get caught on Finn, on his facial construction, and he wants to stay and talk to Finn, not Quinn. Finn is cute, and Quinn smiles like she wants to eat Kurt's soul.

"Are you _lost_?" she drawls lazily, bored, unwittingly dangling a challenge in Kurt's face. He holds eye contact with her. She's just a popular girl; he doesn't need to be afraid.

"Not at all, actually," Kurt says smoothly. "I had a proposition for you, about the current class elections."

Nodding, Quinn stands and leads him aside to a corner where they can talk in private. "I'm listening," she purrs with a smirk.

Kurt tells her everything in great detail: she is popular, Kurt is less so, Elliot is definitely not, and Rachel Berry is scary beyond all reason. Obviously, Quinn is a shoe-in to win the election, but what happens then? The less popular students seem to really hate her and her clique, and that's where Kurt comes in. What he lacks in social influence, he makes up for in being useful. Maybe he's not as pretty as she is, but he's a hard worker and he'll be an extremely dedicated running mate, and she couldn't find a better co-president if she tried.

She hums thoughtfully. "Let me think it over, okay? Meet me by the fence after school and we'll talk."

As Quinn has Finn and the other boys throw Kurt into the dumpster, he can't help feeling like he should have seen this coming. With a clang, the top closes and Kurt's heart sinks. It isn't long before it opens again, and Kurt thinks he might be able to get out. Looking up, he sees Brittany staring down at him, her expression a mix of fear and sympathy, and he stares back, feeling empty and confused. …But, wait, what? Why would Brittany be helping get him out?

"Hey," she whispers like a conspirator in some plot to overthrow America. "I just wanted to say, I think you're really brave being so out like you are. Nobody understands you, but I know how it is, believe me I do, but trust me… the only way to make them stop is to just, you know… try harder to fit in. Like I do. It doesn't help for you to shove it in everybody's faces."

The lid closes again and, with a sigh, Kurt sinks into the trash. Quietly, he finds himself singing, "And I think it's gonna be a long, long time / 'til touchdown brings me 'round again to find / I'm not the man they think I am at home, oh no, no, no…"

~*~

**4.** Maybe Brittany has a point, Kurt supposes, but when he's fouteen, Kurt decides that he doesn't care. Quinn won class president, and Kurt didn't try to run for it again. All he has for lunch is salad every day, and he's started taking care of his skin with a devotion that no one else can match or even understand. Out of Aunt Mildred's lady magazines, he's taught himself hairstyling and fashion, and maybe Quinn's boys still torment him, but at least he looks good now when they do it. He's slender, and stylish, and taller than he was last year. Faking confidence gets easier when he puts on the right look.

For all he looks better, though, he's stopped speaking much at school. When a teacher asks a question, he keeps his mouth shut unless they call on him specifically, and he doesn't speak out sometimes when he feels like he should. It's supposed to draw attention off of him, but it never does. Even when he says nothing, they still throw him in the dumpster, call him queer or fag, or throw things directly at his head. Before he wasn't being brave, and he isn't now. All he is, all he can be, is just Kurt Hummel. It's all that he knows how to be, and it's what he chooses.

Just like how he chooses not to talk to Finn. There are so many reasons why he shouldn't, and many more why he just _can't_, but ultimately, not talking to him is Kurt's choice. Why would he want to talk to Finn and risk rejection? Not even the certain rejection of his love — they live in a small town, Finn is almost surely straight, the Christian influences are everywhere; rejecting Kurt's love would be Finn's duty — but just in general. Finn's with the other boys when they lob the cafeteria's meatloaf surprise at Kurt's head. He's with them when they shove him into lockers and when they trip him into mud puddles on the _one_ day when his entire ensemble is dry clean only. They can't be close, they can't even be friends. But Kurt can _look_ at him, and he can dream.

And, even if the bullying is painful, Kurt doesn't entirely mind getting to see Finn's face. Finn's the only one who ever smiles kindly. The others smirk and jeer, but they never smile.

Being silent at school doesn't mean being silent at home, though. Kurt knows that he needs to tell Dad about this. Dad ought to know — he's Kurt's _father_; besides Aunt Mildred and Uncle Jim, they're all each other has. Resolved to tell him, Kurt comes to Friday night poker, which finds Dad, Aunt Mildred, and Uncle Jim all gathered around the kitchen table. On their fifth hand, and Aunt Mildred's sixth mojito, Kurt decides it's time. He opens his mouth to speak, but Uncle Jim gets there first.

"Can you — No, you _won't_ believe what I saw down in Akron the other day, Burt," he huffs. "Those queers who've been kicking up that big-ass ruckus about their gay marriage rights were all protesting downtown. Signs and displays and everything — the whole shebang! Fucking fags… if they were _meant_ to get married, God woulda made Adam and Steve, you know what I'm saying?"

Kurt looks to Dad. All Dad does is make a gruff little grunting noise. Does he approve? Does he not? Kurt can't tell.

Somehow, Kurt isn't sure by what grace, he makes it through that hand, and then he retires to his room. He puts on the jeans Dad doesn't know he has, and his Christina Aguilera CD, and he knows he isn't her — not the way he used to pretend to be Judy Garland — but it doesn't matter, because he doesn't need to be Plain Old Kurt. When he sings — "_I am beautiful no matter what they say. Words can't bring me down…_" — he can think that someone hears him. He can think that it matters.

~*~

**5.** Realistically speaking, Kurt doesn't _mean_ to have sex with Finn in the boys' bathroom after rehearsing their team's mash-up.

Hell, he doesn't even mean to _kiss_ Finn. She isn't even here anymore, but it's April's fault that it happens.

Getting caught drunk at school was not one of Kurt's better ideas. Throwing up on Miss Pillsbury's shoes was easily the lowest moment in his high school career, followed closely by Coach Tanaka driving both of them to the ER and getting picked up there by Dad. According to the "talk" Kurt had with Miss Pillsbury, the subsequent "talk" with Mister Schuester, and the (entirely unhelpful) pamphlet he got handed on teen drinking and its dangers ("So You Want to Raid Your Parents' Liquor Cabinet" — really, who do they think they're kidding?), the whole experience should have taught him something valuable. Clearly, he was having _issues_ with _something_, and what he needed to do was to _talk_ about these issues with someone and work them out, rather than trying to drown them. He'd just set himself up for greater problems down the road, if he didn't get a hold on his _issues_ now, in their infancy.

Well. That lesson might be bullshit, but the experience did teach him something. He knows that he has to be smarter now. No getting so wasted that he can't stand up. Brushing his teeth like his life depends on their cleanliness. Gargling Scope if he's pressed for time. Hiding his booze in his flavored water. The overachievers in the National Honors Society all get away with it; Kurt's just doing what they do and making it look better. (Not that that's _hard_ — he actually puts _thought_ into how he looks, while Elliot and his cadre of weirdos look like they rolled out of bed and into a pile of trash thrown away by demented nuns.)

Besides, what he's doing is much better than Finn's new obsession with his "vitamin D." Maybe _he's_ dumb as a brick, but Kurt isn't; he took one hit of Finn's "vitamins," let it take its course, and now he's just had some of his "water" instead of taking pills like everyone else. His vice might be technically illegal, but at least it doesn't make his heart race like Seabiscuit. Sure, drinking tends to require that he take extra time he doesn't want to spend, but holing up in the bathroom to brush his teeth is an acceptable sacrifice. At least Dad hasn't caught wise yet.

While making his precautionary second brush, Kurt gets a slap on the back and nearly gags on his toothbrush for the trouble. Coughing, he doubles over and spits into the sink. "_Excuse me_!" he snaps, slamming the toothbrush onto the counter. "There is a _time_ and a _place_ for everything, and I—" Looking in the mirror, he cuts himself off. "Oh, Finn, I — I'm sorry, I thought you'd be someone else."

"Don't be sorry!" Finn tells him chipperly, talking far too fast for any human being to talk, sitting down on the counter. Tapping on it like he's playing the drums with his hands. Looking down at Kurt with those gorgeous brown eyes. ...Why does he have to be so beautiful? It makes staying mad at him difficult. "I'm sorry I didn't see if you were doing anything — your toothbrush went into your throat, didn't it? You're okay, right? Are you okay? I'd be really upset if you weren't okay, especially if your throat got hurt since you sing from the throat and we need everybody's ready for Tuesday… You _are_ okay, right?"

It's like talking to a child. A hyperactive child. A six-foot-three, muscular, perfectly sculpted hyperactive child who just happens to be the guy Kurt's in love with. "Oh, no, don't worry about it," Kurt replies softly, smiling, blushing, looking away. Keeping eye contact with Finn might kill him. "Throat's fine, no need to get flustered."

"Oh, well, that's good," Finn agrees. "You were really good in rehearsal today, too. Everyone's really doing good with the mash-up, I'm excited for it, we're totally going to cream the girls, and you know, you really were great. I mean it, you've got this passion when you sing, and when you dance, and when you kick, and when you argue about the costumes and the feathers and stuff."

As he's talking, Finn starts humming something unexpected, and Kurt doesn't even need to work at recognizing it. He may need to pinch himself to make sure he isn't dreaming, because this was totally the plot of a dream he had once… though, in the dream, Finn was drumming it and Kurt did the whole dance perfectly before Finn threw him down and took him hard. Even so, Kurt knows that melody better than he knows his evening skincare routine, better than he knows all of the inane gadgets and add-ons that Uncle Jim told Dad to put in his car. Raising an eyebrow, Kurt stares at Finn's hands, which are still tapping. They're out of synch with the music; why doesn't it throw him off?

Before he even realizes, Kurt starts singing along: "If you like it, then you shoulda put a ring on it. Don't be mad once you see that he want it…" Wait, what is he _doing_? Shaking himself around, Kurt stops. He hasn't nearly drunk enough to justify doing that.

Finn cocks his head to the side, and, for the first time in days, looks something other than peppy. "…Why'd you stop?" he asks. Gentleness underscores the bright tone he's had like a subtle score in some foreign film. "Is — I mean, I don't want to steal the song from you or anything, if you think it's yours or something, I just got started listening to it after you helped us win that game with it. You were really amazing out there, you know that right? And I know it wasn't my favorite song and I tried to make you not use it and all, but you were so _spot on_! And it's kind of fun, but just don't tell Puck, okay? I don't think he really digs on the whole Beyoncé thing."

"Of course not," Kurt agrees. "Your secret's safe with me." They're conspiring in something now, and he knows that he should find a different aspect of their relationship to cling to, but even _with_ football and New Directions, they don't _have_ a relationship for Kurt to find something in. He knows that. Forgetting it would undo him. Now, he needs to finish up here and leave. With a sigh, he rinses off his toothbrush, dries it with a paper towel…

"Why don't you sing on your own more often?"

Eyes wide and brow furrowed, Kurt looks up at Finn. He wrinkles his nose like he's smelling something nasty. "…I don't know what you're talking about."

Finn looks decidedly un-peppy again. It's the face he gets when he's trying to answer a hard question but can't quite find the answer — Kurt can't help what he _wants_, but he knows better than to act on it. "I mean, you're in Glee for a reason, right?" Finn finally starts to explain. "So you have to be a good singer, and you're always really good doing back up and stuff, like in the mash-up? But you were singing just now and you were _really good_—"

"All due respect, Finn, but I think you're just a little excited." Playing it off is like second nature, and it's necessary besides that.

"No, Kurt, I'm _serious_, I — why don't you sing for me? I promise I won't tell anyone, since you're not telling Puck about the Beyoncé, and I won't laugh or anything if you want to sing, like, Sesame Street or Disney or something."

"The lead vocal parts in Disney movies are actually very complicated," Kurt informs Finn, pointedly looking in the mirror, pretending to fix his hair. But he can't shake the feeling of Finn's eyes watching him. Sighing, he turns to face Finn and sees an expression he didn't think occurred in nature. Until now, Kurt's only seen it on digitally altered pictures of sad puppies. "…You really want me to sing something?"

"Please?" Finn asks, unable to hide the whine in his voice. "I won't laugh, or tell anyone, and I just really, really want to hear what you sound like without anyone else there. _Please_, Kurt?"

Kurt says nothing, but nods, and closes his eyes. He breathes in deeply, pretends this is his bedroom… Wherever the song comes from, he doesn't know, but again, he starts singing: "_Games, changes and fears: when will they go from here? When will they stop? I believe that fate has brought us here and we should be together, babe, but we're not. I play it off, but I'm dreaming of you. I'll keep my cool, but I'm feigning. I try to say goodbye and I choke, try to walk away and I stumble. Though I try to hide it, it's clear: my world crumbles when you are not near_…"

Turning his eyes back up to Finn, Kurt trails off and waits for Finn to say something, _anything_. As long as he has no idea that he's the one Kurt thinks of when he sings that.

"So, wait, I… why don't you sing on your own more often?" Finn asks. "You're really good, you know?"

Until now, the alcohol's laid dormant in Kurt's brain and bloodstream, lurking and doing nothing that he could feel. Now, though? He knows that it's a bad idea, and he doesn't care. Grabbing Finn by the leather jacket, Kurt pulls him down and kisses him harder than he thought he could kiss anyone. It shouldn't be happening, it's a bad idea — but then why does Finn kiss back? Why do they press against each other and grind harder than dancers in a rap video? Suddenly, the air between them disappears and what stays behind feels fevered and sweaty like the July Kurt got dragged off camping with Dad and Uncle Jim. Even just pressing against his chest, Kurt can hear Finn's heartbeat pounding, hard and fast, or maybe that's his own. He can't believe he's doing this.

He _cannot believe_ he's doing this.

Eventually, Finn takes a second, a pause for breath, and Kurt takes the opportunity Finn hands him. Holding fast to the jacket, Kurt pulls Finn back until he feels himself hit the wall; he positions himself so Finn has to rely on him and the wall to stay standing. Who really cares about the less-than-romantic location? Better people have settled for less. As he tightens his grip on the leather and kisses Finn again (slower, this time; deeper; more insistent), Kurt feels his hips moving of their own accord, grinding into Finn's with calculated force. To his credit, Finn is a fantastic kisser. Even if he's only slept with Quinn once, he's a _guy_. They've had to have kissed before. She probably holds him closer than this, the tarnished Chastity Ball Queen — and the thought makes Kurt's hands move off of Finn's lapels. One snakes around Finn's shoulders and pulls him in; the other moves downward instead, and Kurt finds himself pawing at Finn through his jeans.

Finn seems to get the message. Which is good, because Kurt would die if they had to stop kissing now.

In a minute, he regrets that. It all goes well until — "_Finn_!" he whines. He doesn't mean to whine, but really.

"What — wait, I — I was just… you wanted to do this, right? I mean, if you don't we can stop, I'm sorry, just… wait, I—"

Kurt cuts him off, grabbing him by the wrist: "I want this," he tells Finn softly. "You just can't put it in like that, though. I'm not a girl. It doesn't work like that."

Not that Kurt knows how it works from experience. Before now, he's never even kissed anybody, much less let them get his pants off — but he's read things. And he's watched. Finding them wasn't difficult. Like the song says, the Internet is for porn. Slowing their pace, Kurt brings Finn's hand up and, without asking, he takes Finn's pointer and puts it in his mouth, licks it like he's trying to find the Tootsie Roll center. Hand taste isn't anything to phone home about. Even the fact that it's Finn's hand doesn't much make up for the indecisive saltiness or the rough texture (moisturizer; Finn needs some).

Slow might not be a bad idea, though, and Kurt draws out getting Finn's ring and middle fingers wet, moves his lips and tongue around each one deliberately. Nothing changes about the taste from taking his time, and Finn's skin rubs like softer sandpaper on Kurt's lips — even if he has to chapstick the hell out of them tonight, it's worth it. Kurt gets his tongue into every nook and cranny, and either way, Finn doesn't seem to mind. He doesn't seem anything but confused. Poor guy. Somehow, Kurt can't imagine him sitting in class and thinking about this until he thinks he might not be able to stand it.

"What's that for?" Finn asks, eyes wide and eyebrows contorted like Olympic gymnasts.

Guiding Finn's hand down, Kurt tells him: "I — you're supposed to put them in. Pointer first, then middle, then ring, and then your… you know." Finn apparently doesn't. "Your — you know, little Finn?" That one doesn't sink in either. "Dinglehopper? …_Battering_ ram? …_Ace in the hole_?" Kurt sighs. Even Finn can't be this dense. Taking a deep breath, he prepares himself for the shame of saying this, but apparently Finn needs it. "…My _anaconda_ don't want none unless you've—"

"_Oh_! …Okay, okay, I've — okay, I can do it, I can…"

Finn trails off as Kurt guides his hand back to its purpose. Neither of them is breathing quite right — Finn's breath is coming far too quickly, and Kurt's is shaky, and Finn _hesitates_… then, suddenly, there's a finger _there_ and it's not what Kurt expected. …What _did_ he expect? He isn't sure… but it wasn't really this. It's not _bad_ — the middle finger goes in and he can't help pulling a face. It's not a _frown_, because this _isn't bad_… but this _is_ surprising. There are fingers squirming where he's not sure they should be, and it's not that it isn't _good_, but it's _weird_. Isn't it supposed to be… _nicer_?

But, then, that isn't fair. Finn is trying. When Kurt briefly looks at his face, he can see concentration spelled out like when Finn was still learning how to move while singing. He's focusing on doing this right, and it's working, Kurt guesses. Having fingers there feels odd, _extremely_ odd, but Finn moves them slowly, and gently, and he's taking care to make sure he doesn't do anything wrong. Finn's third finger goes in faster than the others and Kurt's options are look up, look down, or meet Finn's eyes. Looking down would require risking the chance of looking at what's going down, so Kurt glances up to the fluorescent lights and tries to keep his breathing steady. …God, if this were a porno, they'd look so washed out.

"…So… now?" Finn asks tentatively, and Kurt nods. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. Breathes in like a man before a firing squad. It hasn't been yet, but this is _going_ to be fun. He relaxes. Fun, right — it's going to be _fun_.

Then he gasps.

Immediately, before he can really feel the gasp, it turns into a wince. A pained noise escapes from the lowest part of Kurt's throat. This is… It _hurts_. Why does it hurt? No one online mentioned that. Kurt's toes curl inside his Prada boots and his hand clenches on Finn's wrist. The other one digs its nails into the skin on Finn's neck. Even though the pain subsides, it's still _different_. Kurt's heart races like he's on Finn's "vitamins" and he shifts his hips, bends his knees trying to get Finn in deeper. …It doesn't work just right. That hurts too — the pain is momentary, but sharp, and slowly, it starts to feel good. Kurt gets his hips just right, and Finn gets the motions down. Maybe there aren't any choirs of angels singing 'Gloria' so loudly they penetrate Kurt's mind even though he's luxuriating in pleasure… but it's nice, finally. Still different, but nice.

Kurt moans and slides his leg up against Finn's. Without warning, he yanks Finn down and kisses him again. Their hips slide together, and then—

"Oh, _oh_!"

Kurt's eyes snap open and he finally looks at Finn. Oh, _god_ — not that face. Kurt's not ready for Finn to have _that_ face. …But he does. And he moans. And, as abruptly as this started, Kurt feels empty again (something lingers; _something_, whatever it is, has yet to go away; Kurt doesn't mind that, but as the sensation of just being penetrated, it feels _weird_), and he's more than a little shaken. Finn slumps against him and Kurt's unsure of what to do. Sighing heatedly, he puts his hands on Finn's shoulders and tries to coax him back up; Finn stands of his own accord, though, and withdraws quickly. He turns right to the sink and starts washing his hands.

"I'm sorry — I just, I — I'm really, _really_ sorry, Kurt, I didn't mean to do that, I promise, it's just, I…"

Kurt ignores how he's still unfinished and pulls his pants back up. Leaning behind Finn, he does the same here, since Finn's apparently preoccupied. Once the both of them are clothed again, he comes around and takes one of Finn's hands. Matter-of-factly, like it's just a thing he always does (it's not, and hopefully, Finn doesn't think that), he gets soap from the dispenser and starts helping Finn scrub.

Finn goes quiet for a moment, then asks softly, "You're not mad, are you? And you won't tell anyone? Please don't tell anyone, Kurt, that doesn't always — I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Finn," Kurt tells him gently, interlacing their fingers. "Sometimes it just happens. …We can't leave together or someone might suspect something. But I promise that I'm not mad."

Finn nods, and gives Kurt a small, sweet little smile. After he's gone, Kurt waits, for propriety's sake and to just barely give himself a proper send-off. He showers immediately when he gets home, and almost skips his evening skincare routine, he's so distracted. He only doesn't because he thinks a zit might be coming onto his chin.

He and Finn had _sex_. At _school_. Kurt's not a virgin anymore, and even if he's just a throwaway to get rid of the stress of a pregnant girlfriend — which he doubts, because Finn wouldn't _do that_ to someone — Finn's at least a decongestant bisexual. Quietly slipping into bed, deciding to make an early night of this, Kurt thinks that he can live with this.

The next day, he finds Finn before classes start, and something about him looks distinctly wrong. He's pale, and only keeping himself up by slumping against his locker. His eyes are aimed downward, and his hands fiddle with what Kurt recognizes as a package of the "vitamins" that Mrs. Schuester gave him. There are the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, but, luckily for Finn, they're small, and, if he feels like it, Kurt has something he can use to treat them. Beaming, he quickly fixes his hair and bounces over to Finn; he takes the decongestants and opens them.

"Thanks…" Finn says sluggishly. As he takes them back, all of Finn's movements seem to go like he's underwater, or in slow motion.

"Not a problem," Kurt says brightly. …Should he mention anything? Finn looks out of sorts, so maybe it's not the best idea, but what the hell. He looks like he needs to hear something pleasant. Lowering his voice, Kurt leans in close and tells him, "So… I just wanted to say… yesterday was really fun for me, and, you know… thank you."

Finn swallows one of the pills, and then goes quiet. …Oh, no. The blank look on his face makes Kurt suddenly feel cold. "Wait, I… what did we do yesterday?"

Oh, _no_. Kurt's heart starts racing, his insides twist around like worms boring through an apple, and he's sure that the temperature around them has plummeted… but Finn doesn't seem to notice that. Desperately, he searches Finn's face for any sign of Finn screwing with him, but… the confusion is genuine. …Why wouldn't he remember having sex?

"…I was having trouble with my cues," Kurt explains quickly, before the silence can get awkward. "For the mash-up. …But you stayed and helped, and just… you made it really fun. Thank you."

"Oh." Finn thinks about it for a moment. He still can't remember, Kurt can tell by how hard he's thinking, but then he nods. For all appearances, he accepts it. "So, uh… do you need more help or anything? Because we don't have any practices today, so, you know… I can help you more later, I guess?"

"Oh, no, it's fine." It isn't. "I've got them down." If this mash-up thing works, Kurt is ratting the rest of these twits out to the girls. Kurt looks away from him and sees Mercedes going to her locker. "I — I need to go. I'll see you later, Finn."

Without waiting for Finn to say goodbye, Kurt rushes around the corner to Mercedes's side. She knows that _something_ isn't right, but rather than just telling her, he asks if she'll come to the auditorium with him after school. Mister Schue won't be using it today; they'll be able to have alone time.

Mercedes brings Tina, but Kurt doesn't think he minds. The only thing that gets him is how badly his voice breaks as he sings, "_Time can never mend the careless whispers of a good friend. To a heart and mind, ignorance is kind. There's no comfort in the truth; pain is all you find. So I'm never gonna dance again. Guilty feet have got no rhythm_…"

~*~

**6.** Approaching Coach Sylvester's office is like walking towards the lair of a dragon, and, for all Coach Tanaka's warned him about not letting the gorillas on their opposing teams not take his 'sweet virgin blood,' Kurt is so much more concerned that Sue might. Big, burly, chromosomally-challenged apes, Kurt could deal with. But even if she listens to the student input more than Mister Schue, Sue is scary beyond all reason, the way that Rachel was in middle school. The only difference is that, unlike Rachel, Sue might _actually_ sneak into someone's house to wake them up at five AM for vocal drills. Or whatever she's going to do to her section of Glee Club.

Unfortunately, this is something that needs to be done. More than Sue, Kurt is afraid of what Mercedes will do to him if she finds out that he _didn't_ go _attempt_ to address his concerns with her. She might not devour his soul with a side of fries the way that Sue probably will, but Kurt can't risk making Dad replace his baby's windows again and he has no doubts that Mercedes will do _something_ to make him regret not talking to Sue. Even if it's just hitting his shoulder and telling him that Sue won't kill him, Mercedes _will_ do something. His Beatle boots shuffle on the linoleum as he adjusts his Marc Jacobs jacket, his slim-fit Deréon jeans, and his Versace scarf. If he's going to die today, then at least he's going to go out looking _good_.

With a resolved sigh, he knocks on Coach Sylvester's door. From behind it, in a voice louder and harsher than the Almighty Oz, she booms, "Enter!"

Kurt finds her looking over a _Cheerleading Today_, which isn't surprising in the least. But it takes him aback when she looks up at him and smiles. "Well, well, well. If it isn't my little Elton John," she says, her voice sickeningly, worryingly sweet. "Sit."

Nodding, Kurt obeys and sits opposite her, but before he can think to stop himself, he asks flatly, "Am I supposed to be flattered that you're comparing me to an overweight queen with no taste in patterns _or_ sunglasses?"

She laughs. It is not a comforting sound. …Is she supposed to do that? "Good point, Versace, but the man _did_ write some of the best music of the past thirty years. Crocodile Rock, The Circle of Life, The Bitch is Back… You know, I saw him play live once when I was living in London, and it's true, he looks like a rainbow and a unicorn had a sick, torrid affair and then their illicit love child vomited on his head, but that man can really sing — and so can you, as it happens."

Pursing his lips, Kurt sits up straighter, folds his hands in his lap, and crosses his legs. He isn't sure whether or not he believes the story, but disagreeing with Sue has only gotten Mister Schuester a world of trouble. So he nods. It's just _safer_ that way.

Leaning her chair back, she surveys him and asks, "So what can I do for you, Queenie?"

Kurt sighs and grabs onto his knee. He can do this. He _can_ do this. _He can do this_. "…That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually—"

She cuts him off: "What is?"

"The nicknames," he retorts immediately, getting snippy though he should know better with Sue Sylvester.

"How do you mean, Dorothy?" Her eyes are narrowed. For all she looks pensive, it's probably just because she's thinking of which sauce to marinate his tender, no longer virginal flesh in and what vegetables to toss in with it.

Bringing up Judy Garland at all, even through bringing up Dorothy, makes Kurt shift in his seat. But he can't back out now. "They need to stop," he tells her with a confidence that he doesn't really have. Already, he can taste his necessary lie bubbling up like witches' brew. Is it terrible? Yes. Do Dad, Mercedes, and Brittany already know that it's false? Yes. Will Sue crush him like a worm if she catches him in it? Yes. Is any of that going to stop him from telling it to her? Not in the slightest.

"I see what you're trying to do, Coach Sylvester, and it was kind of amusing the first couple of times, like, ha ha, I wear nice clothes, so you'll call me 'gay kid' in front of _everyone_, but…" He pauses. Here it comes. He's done this before, and, so help him, he'll do it again. "But I'm not gay, Mercedes and I are kind of an item actually, and, to tell the truth, I've _really_ stopped finding it funny, so… could you _please_ stop?"

For several moments, all she does is look at him. Her eyes go up and down, and he's sure that she's trying to find his softest, weakest spot so she can tear out whatever organs are there with her _bare hands_. Somehow, he keeps his posture straight, but he still swallows thickly and his jaw starts quivering like a violin string. She could kill him and convince everyone that he never existed in the first place, Kurt is sure of it. Every second she doesn't say anything, he feels his temperature dropping, his insides freezing over the way they did with Finn. She could kill him, she could kill him, she could kill him _easily_, so why doesn't she just _do it already_ and save them both the trouble of the wait?

"You know, Cher, I had a girl just like you in college at Ohio State," she says finally. Both the words and the tone make Kurt feel as though he's just been smacked upside the head with a bag of bricks. …Is Coach Sylvester actually _being nice_? "Karen Andrews. Skinny, pretty little thing. Fashionable. Wanted to be a photographer. I think you kids call girls like her 'lipstick lesbians'. Oh, she was a good one. The kind of girl Melissa Etheridge would write a love song about. I loved her _passionately_. When we were together, it was like all the _stars_ were in perfect alignment. You could physically hear the angels singing."

Sue pauses, and before he can stop himself, Kurt asks, "…What happened to her?"

She looks up at the lights, then at one of the framed _Cheerleading Today_ covers on her wall. When she speaks again, her tone is suddenly somber: "Her parents found out about us. Broke us up. Forced her to marry some million-dollar net-worth jackass from Harvard Law and moved her out to Massachusetts to be his pretty little wife and birth his ugly little babies."

Once again, she pauses, but just long enough to lean across her desk, like she's his informant, delivering high-security documents from the CIA. "I know what you're feeling right now, kiddo," she tells him, her voice bare and honest. "And I know your situation, too. Young. Flaming. Redneck lottery-rich father who voted for McCain. Feeling trapped. You're thinking that no one in this shit-kicker small town, with the exception of Aretha, will _ever_ understand you, let alone _accept_ you, for the shining, rainbow-colored star you are—"

"But I'm _not_ gay," he insists. She's going to eat him whole for cutting her off. But the lie _needs_ to be kept up.

"Wanna know a secret, Liza?" She smirks and, like so much about this moment, it only makes Kurt feel entirely unsettled. "Queer recognizes queer, and you're looking pretty damn familiar to me. …And, even if you weren't, I've seen the way you look at Finn Hudson and I'm sure I'm not the only one." Kurt says nothing. What can he say to that? Sue takes it as a free pass to keep on going: "Now. You might be two sizes too small to be on Cheerios — it's nothing personal; I just need my Cheerio boys a little more butch — but you _are_ one of my Sue's Kids, and I've kind of taken a shine to you—"

"Because I remind you of your ex-girlfriend?" He phrases it as one, but there's no question in Kurt's tone. Sue _just said_ that he reminds her of her ex. Creepy.

"Yes, that." At least she's honest? And then comes the unnervingly sweet smile again. "And because I know what you're going through. …I want you to know before I say this that this is a _very_ rare occurrence, and by no means should you take it as an open invitation to come and whine to me about every trouble you encounter. You've got a fag hag, use her for that. But I am going to tell you this: yes, it's true. Almost no one in this town will understand you or what you go through, and many of them will never want to. But that is _no_ reason to _ever_ let them make you feel ashamed of who you are. You're as gay as the day is long. …So what? Your little lust bug's about as dumb as a bag of rocks for everything that isn't football, but that doesn't _define_ him. Rachel Berry is annoying as all get-out, yes but she has other traits. She's also obsessive, irritating, and, frankly, rather weird."

Another pause. Another smile. This time, it looks so genuine that Kurt might throw up. "You are _more_ than that one thing, and do you know what you should do if anyone tries to treat you otherwise?" Kurt shakes his head. "If they try to treat you like gay is all you are, you stand up, look them in the eye, and then you smack them in the face and hurl the soul-crushing insult of your choice. I'd give you some ready ammunition, but you're witty enough that I don't think I need to feed you lines."

Reaching across the table, Sue musses his hair. For the first time in his life, Kurt doesn't mind this at all. "So, my little Freddie Mercury," she says, "does that tell you what I think about the nicknames issue?" Slowly, Kurt nods. "Good. Now get out of here and go take your problems out on Mercedes. I need to burn off the utter sentimentality of this moment before it infects me any further."

Without another word, Kurt leaves and heads for Mercedes's locker. He's not walking on air, not even close, and there certainly aren't wings on his feet. But, for once, he doesn't feel the compulsion to hide behind another singer — he doesn't need to be Judy, or Christina, or Elton, Macy Gray, or even Beyoncé, and he doesn't need to sing Finn's back-up (though, realistically, if the club ever comes back together, Mister Schuester will probably keep him in that spot). When he belts "Defying Gravity" to the empty corridor, he's Kurt Hummel, and that's everything he needs to be.


End file.
